


They Well Deserve To Have

by MapleLantern



Series: The Shadow of Thy Face [3]
Category: 14th Century CE RPF, Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: Heretical combinations of Shakespearean dialogue and historical events, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, period-typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-08-10 01:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20127382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleLantern/pseuds/MapleLantern
Summary: 1399 - Henry Bolingbroke takes what he wants, deserved or not.





	1. Chapter 1

**1399, Flint Castle**

“My lord.”

If that tone persists Richard is going to punch Northumberland, for lack of any other option. Low, almost like one would call to a spooked animal, but with a lilt to it that suggests an unwelcome smile. He grits his teeth and wills himself to composure.

“Northumberland?”

“In the base court, my lord Bolingbroke doth intend to speak with you, ere it should please you to come down.”

The food that Northumberland had ordered be brought to him, over an hour previously, lays untouched on the table - he must have tired of his pretence of courtesy, for Richard has had no desire to eat since Conway - either that or Bolingbroke has lost his patience for standing in the rain. 

With a last glance down to the courtyard, Richard reaches to set up his hood against the damp and draws as much regal dignity as he can muster around himself. 

“We will descend.” 

Richard takes petty pleasure in Henry’s bedraggled appearance, being kept waiting so long, even as Henry has it in him to acknowledge the presence of his sovereign properly. As Richard draws closer, however, Henry takes another bow - almost scraping the ground - and Richard suddenly hates him all the more, even as the gesture appeals to his vanity. 

“My lord, I have come sooner than you sent for me, and I shall tell you why.”

_ Oh! _Richard bridles silently, but holds his tongue, carefully lifting his hood from his head so that it doesn’t snag on the frets of his crown. 

“It is said that you have governed your people too harshly, and that they are discontented.” Only now does Henry rise from his bow. “If it is pleasing to the Lord, I will help you govern them better.”

“If it pleases you, fair cousin,” Richard replies, coldly, holding out his hand. “Then it pleases us well.”

Henry kisses his fingers with barely a moment of hesitation, rather, he lingers too long before standing and turning to Northumberland. 

“Prepare the horses. We return to Chester.”

Henry doesn't grip Richard's arm until they are halfway up the stairs of the keep and out of sight.

*

After, Richard somehow manages to sweep through the courtyard with his nose in the air, his crown set firmly upon his hastily straightened hair.

“Up, cousin.” He snaps, sitting impatiently upon his own horse. “Up! Your heart is up, I know, at least _ thus _ high.”

It sounds glib, but there is a nasty twist to the words that only Henry hears. Richard doesn’t drop his hand from pointing to his own head until Henry is astride his own horse, and alongside him. 

“My _ gracious _ Lord,” Henry growls, gesturing for Richard to spur his own horse a stride ahead. “I come but for mine own.”

“Your own is yours!” Richard says, although it catches in his throat. “And I am yours. And all.” 

“So far be mine,” Henry replies, attempting to gentle his tone as much as he knows how, “As my true service shall deserve your love.”

“You deserve!” For a moment Henry is convinced that Richard is going to laugh, to throw his head back and cackle like a mad woman. “They well deserve to have, that know the strongest and surest way to get!” 

To Henry’s surprise, Richard lifts up slightly in his left stirrup and leans closer towards him.

“What you will have, I’ll give,” He purrs, “And willing too. For do we must what force will have us do.”

*

At Chester Henry hands him over to the safekeeping of Thomas FitzAlan, and although the boy is disrespectful and threatens it, he doesn’t progress to violence, not even in the name of his murdered father. 

Richard wants to laugh in the child’s face. 


	2. Chapter 2

**1399, Tower of London**

“Willingly,” Richard says, his countenance putting Henry in mind of his previous declaration on the concept at Flint castle. “In the interests of our dear cousin of Lancaster, on the understanding of our wishes-”

Richard makes a sound when Henry grabs him by the bicep.

“No,” Henry hisses. “You will resign _ simply _ and without condition.”

Richard has never done anything simply in his life, but the deliberately obstructive manner in which he has conducted himself over the past couple of months - these past two _ days _ \- is a demonstration of will that Henry has not witnessed before, and there is a limit to Henry’s patience. He squeezes Richard’s arm and Richard rallies a scowl.

“You’re hurting-”

“Simply,” Henry says again, drawing Richard closer to him. “And without condition.”

“You’re hurting!” Richard cries, pulling away again and this time freeing himself.

The immediate silence is thick with the embarrassment of all parties. Richard has flushed alarmingly from white to red, looking as if he may begin to weep from anger, furious to have witnesses to such treatment to his person. If they remain, and Henry and Richard’s debate continues in this vein, Richard will never concede. There is a flinty expression in his eyes that Henry has known since they were children. 

“My lord of Northumberland, leave my cousin and I alone.” Henry says.

As they leave the room one by one, Richard turns his face to inspecting his arm, although this is surely to create himself a moment of privacy than anything else. 

“Our uncle always was of the mind that a sound beating with a horse whip would do you well.” Henry says, bitterly, once they are alone.

Richard snorts.

“Will the hand be yours?”

“Would that I were man to yield to temptation.” 

“Such flattery.”

To let Richard lead him further in this manner would be a mistake. Richard has always outwitted him in words, deliberately mistaking Henry’s meanings and delivering far cleverer arguments than Henry can muster, drawing him into allowing his reason to be overtaken by rage. Henry learned long ago not to allow it, either by walking away from his cousin or holding his tongue until his king grew weary at receiving no response. 

“Without condition.” Henry says, steering Richard to the table on which the schedule of resignation sits. 

“Without even hearing our conditions!” Richard says, slapping at Henry’s hand. “What manner-”

Richard’s head makes a sickening noise when it meets the table, although Henry sees no blood pool even as he wraps Richard’s hair tightly around his fist. 

“Are you willing?” Henry says.

“But for-”

On the second impact, blood does begin to run from his cousin’s nose. Richard splutters and sends flecks across the newly written schedule, coughing as it enters his throat. 

“Are you willing?”

“Should you-”

He screams this time, reaching blindly back to claw at Henry’s hand wrapped in his hair, only for Henry to tighten his grip. Some strands pulls free against his fingers and, against his statement to his character only moments before, he yields to temptation. He repeats his words when Richard grows quiet, but for the frothing splutters as he fights to draw breath. 

“Are you willing?”

He prepares to draw his arm back yet again, lifting Richard away from the table only a few inches before Richard, his voice panicked, chokes out:

“I hope my cousin will be a good lord to me.”

It sounds like a vow.


End file.
